


World Couldn't Break Us

by GotTheSilver



Series: domestic!verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel in the Bunker, Domestic, Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-05-02 14:30:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5251760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GotTheSilver/pseuds/GotTheSilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It’s Cas, is what it is.  Waking up with Cas every morning has changed him, made Dean think about a future that he’s never had the luxury of believing in.  Never thought that he’d live long enough to have a future.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Dean’s staring forty in the face and he’s still working like he’s twenty-two.  At some point, something’s gonna give, and Dean doesn’t want it to be him.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	World Couldn't Break Us

**Author's Note:**

> many thanks to BK for her help on this!

There’s nothing particularly special about the house that catches Dean’s eye. It’s just one of many houses that he, Cas, and Sam have passed while trying to gank a wraith that’s been terrorising the local area. The only special thing about it is that Dean gets a flash of him and Cas sitting on the porch, Baby in the garage and—

“Dean? Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Dean shakes it off, plastering a smile on his face as he looks at Cas. “I’m fine.”

The look on Cas’ face says he’s not convinced, but Dean asks about where they’re hitting next and it gets him suitably distracted. For the moment.

*

It keeps happening. They’ll pass houses in different towns and Dean’ll think about cooking a meal in a homey kitchen, Cas trying to distract him with kisses; he’ll think about Cas having a garden; about them having a guest room where Claire could stay.

He’s not stupid enough to think that Sam and Cas haven’t noticed him being like this, but each time either of them try and bring it up he hedges, talks about not sleeping enough, about needing some food, whatever gets them to change the subject. They’re not buying it, and Dean knows they’re not buying it, but even if he did want to talk about this, he needs time to work out what the hell to say because he’s got no idea what _this_ even is.

Dean thought the bunker was enough. After years of having nowhere to call home, Dean figured that having a room in a place that is essentially his, it would be enough. Family around him, a place to rest his head, and a bunch of cool shit to explore. It should’ve been enough. It was enough.

He doesn’t know what’s going on with him anymore. The years are weighing on him, and lately whenever a new hunt comes up he spends a moment wondering if someone else can take it. It’s not that Dean doesn’t enjoy hunting; he likes that he’s still saving the world, saving people, making a difference, but he’s started looking for an end point that isn’t self destruction and death. It’s new for him, and fucking terrifying.

It’s Cas, is what it is. Waking up with Cas every morning has changed him, made Dean think about a future that he’s never had the luxury of believing in. Never thought that he’d live long enough to have a future. For all that his experience gives him an advantage, Dean’s all too aware that it’s taking him longer to heal up after a hunt.

Dean’s staring forty in the face and he’s still working like he’s twenty-two. At some point, something’s gonna give, and Dean doesn’t want it to be him.

*

“I know you’ve been looking at houses,” Sam says one day, finding Dean in the library with his feet up on the table.

“Kinda hard to miss them Sammy, they’re everywhere.”

“Funny.” Sam takes the seat on the opposite side of the table. “What gives?”

“What do you want to know?” Dean asks as he swings his legs off the table.

“You’ve been acting weird, Dean. Passing on hunts, getting distracted when you’re on them, being moody with me _and_ Cas, dude, something’s going on.”

“Yeah, well.” Dean pauses, fiddling with a bookmark Cas bought him. It’s metal with lyrics from Hey Jude stamped on it, and Dean can’t help the smile on his face when he looks at it. Sliding it inbetween the pages, Dean closes the book and looks at Sam. “I don’t want to be Rufus.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“I’m a little confused. Why do you think you’re Rufus?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “I don’t think I _am_ Rufus, I don’t want to _be_ Rufus. Or Bobby. Or dad.”

“I can tell you now, you’re not dad. And why are you so hung up on this?”

“Did you think we’d live this long? Honestly, Sam, did you?”

“Technically we haven’t.”

“Not funny,” Dean says, his fingers tapping along the spine of a book. “Look, it’s my issue. I’ll deal with it.”

“Except you’re not dealing with it.”

“I will.”

“What if—what if you could have it? What you want. Dean, do you even _want_ to hunt anymore?”

Dean doesn’t have an answer for that. He knows what the right answer is, what he should say, but the right answer isn’t—that’s not what he’s feeling.

“Think about it,” Sam says, pushing away from the table and standing up. “And come and join us or else Cas is going to start the next episode without you.”

“Goddamn Netflix addict,” Dean mumbles, leaving the book on the table and following Sam out of the library.

There’s a softness that flows through his body when he sees Cas on the couch, a bowl of popcorn topped with melted m&ms on his lap. “Hey,” Dean says, sitting next to him and enjoying the quiet intimacy of Cas turning his head and placing a kiss against Dean’s jaw.

“Feeling better?” Cas asks, and Dean shouldn’t be surprised that Cas knows he’s been bothered about something, but somehow he still is.

Taking the remote from Cas, Dean tugs the blanket over him and reaches over, grabbing a handful of the popcorn and m&m mix. “Getting there.”

*

Dean starts by emailing Charlie. There’s a possibility that it’s pathetic how small his circle of friends is for someone his age, but it is what it is, and the people he does have, he trusts with his life. She doesn’t think it’s crazy, apparently, that he wants to cut back on hunting, and offers to come visit to help him figure out how to make a life in regular society.

Next—

“Cas?”

Cas looks up from an old issue of National Geographic he found somewhere in the bunker. His striped pj pants are low around his hips, and he’s wearing a faded Styx t-shirt that used to belong to Dean before he realised just how good Cas looks in his clothes.

“Can we,” Dean waves a hand uselessly. “Talk?”

“Of course.” Cas drops the magazine on the bedside table and rests his hands in his lap, his eyes on Dean as Dean starts to get changed for bed. “You know, if you want to talk, removing your clothes isn’t the best way to keep me on track.”

Dean chuckles, looking over his shoulder as he unfastens his jeans and drops them around his ankles. “Distracted?”

“Very much so.”

Quickly getting changed, pulling on a pair of plaid pj pants and a henley, Dean crawls onto the bed and curves a hand around Cas’ face, kissing him softly. “I love you,” he says quietly. “You—you’re the best damn thing I’ve had in my life for a long while.”

“Dean,” Cas says quietly, his hand squeezing Dean’s thigh. “What’s going on?”

Letting his hand slip from Cas’ face, Dean moves on the bed until he’s next to Cas. Tapping Cas on the back of the hand, Dean smiles when Cas turns his hand over and their fingers interlink. “I think I want to quit hunting.”

“Okay.”

“That’s it? Okay?”

“It’s your choice, Dean. I’m not going to make it for you.”

“What about people I could help?” Dean asks, sliding down a little until he can rest his head on Cas’ shoulder. “Shouldn’t I—”

“Kill yourself trying to save the world? You’ve done that. More than once.”

“So that means I get to quit?”

“You’re not the only hunter in the world,” Cas says gently, squeezing Dean’s hand. “Just one who happened to get a lot of the work. What does Sam think about this?”

“I don’t know,” Dean says. “He knows I’m having second thoughts about the life, but—”

“He’ll be supportive,” Cas says firmly. “If it’s what you really want, he’ll want you to be happy.”

“What about you?” Dean lifts his head and looks up at Cas. “Do you—would you come with me?”

“Dean,” Cas starts, an exasperated look on his face. “If you don’t know by now that I’ll always be with you, I don’t know what to say. If you want to stay here and hunt, I’ll stay here with you. If you want to leave and have a life that I think you deserve, then I’ll go with you.”

It takes a moment for Cas’ words sink into Dean’s skin, but when they do, Dean leans in, capturing Cas’ lips with his own. There’s a familiar comfort in the way Cas lets him in, takes everything Dean has to offer and soothes him with his responses. Pushing Cas back against the mattress, Dean nips at Cas’ bottom lip, smiling when Cas gasps and detangles his hand from Dean’s, grasping at Dean’s shirt.

Dean’s always known he’ll take any life he can get as long as Cas is with him, but it’s only with Cas beside him that he realises he can have something more than hunting.

Dean’s never had anything like this; his teeth grazing against Cas’ neck, tugging Cas close, the thin fabric of their pj pants doing nothing to hide how hard they both are. They’ve been... _this_ for two years now, and it seems like no time at all considering how long they danced around it. How long it took them before they realised that they could have this, have everything they wanted.

Now, Dean gets Cas, all the time. He gets to do exactly what he’s doing now; gets to slide his hand inside Cas’ pj pants and palm his ass; gets to kiss him as they move against each other, drinking in every noise Cas makes; gets to act like a teenager and mark Cas up with his mouth, knowing he’ll be able to watch Cas pressing his fingers against the marks tomorrow. It’s more than Dean ever could’ve asked for, and it’s Cas, falling apart, his hips jerking, mouth hot against Dean’s neck as he comes. Dean’s not far behind him and he breathes heavily, fingertips brushing over the sliver of Cas’ skin above his waistband.

“We ruined our pyjamas,” Cas says as Dean rolls onto his back.

“Really?” Dean turns his head to look at him, his eyebrows raised. “That’s what you have to say after that?”

“I didn’t know there was a rule about what I could say after an orgasm.” Cas’ brow is furrowed, and Dean’s known him long enough to know when Cas is only playing confused. He slides a finger in Cas’ waistband and snaps them back, laughing when Cas hisses. “That was mean,” Cas says, a slight pout on his lips and Dean—well Dean can’t help but kiss that pout away.

“Charlie’s coming to visit,” he says when he pulls away, his hand resting on Cas’ stomach. “To help me with, y’know, being a real boy.”

“Good,” Cas says, rubbing his fingers along Dean’s jaw, smiling when Dean turns into the touch. “It’s been too long since she’s been here.”

Dean hums, placing a kiss against Cas’ fingers before letting out a sigh. “We should clean up.”

“I don’t want to move,” Cas whines, turning his eyes on Dean. “Clean me up.”

“That’s opening a whole ‘nother bag of worms,” Dean says, looking Cas up and down. “And my refractory period isn’t like it was when I was twenty, more’s the pity.”

In response, Cas wriggles around on the bed until he’s managed to kick his pj pants off and he lies there, looking at Dean expectantly. There’s maybe a sixtieth of a second where Dean isn’t going to do what Cas wants, but that’s all it is because then he’s off the bed, sliding out of his own pj pants and grabbing two pairs of boxers from the top drawer. “S’all we’ve got clean,” he says, throwing a pair at Cas. “Laundry day is tomorrow.”

“We’re not very good at this, are we?” Cas mumbles as he cleans himself up with his discarded pj pants before pulling the boxers on.

“I happen to think we’re excellent at this,” Dean says, flashing a grin at Cas before wiping himself up. Walking over to the bed, Dean sits on the edge and tugs the boxers up his legs, standing to yank them all the way up. They’ve got bees on them, a gift from Cas last Christmas, and the smile Cas gives him each time he wears them is worth how ridiculous he feels. “Here, up,” he says, pulling at the blankets.

There’s a perfunctory amount of grumbling from Cas as he flops around the bed until the blankets are pulled out from under him. They’re well practiced at this now, and it only takes a moment before Dean’s on his back, Cas curled up next to him, one hand sliding underneath Dean’s shirt. Cas touching him like this always relaxes Dean, and he wonders how much of it has to do with the fact that this body, his body, was recreated by Cas. That Cas put him back together when he pulled him out of hell and hasn’t ever stopped doing that.

“Cas,” Dean says, a thought suddenly occurring to him. “Where are we going to live?”

“Wherever we want,” Cas says, pressing the pads of his fingers against Dean’s chest lightly. “That’s the whole point, right?”

“Yeah,” Dean says. “I guess it is.”

*

The next morning, Dean leaves Cas sleeping, knowing better than to wake him, and creeps out of their room, snagging his robe as he leaves. Stopping off at the bathroom, he takes cares of business and brushes his teeth before heading towards the kitchen. He can hear Sam mixing up a smoothie and his face involuntarily wrinkles in disgust. Dean might’ve resigned himself to the fact that staying alive means more vegetables than he’s ever wanted to consume before, but he’s never going to be okay with vegetables in liquid form. Some things are just unnatural.

“Finished destroying forests for your breakfast?” Dean calls as he walks into the kitchen.

“Says the man who would eat an entire cow if the occasion presented itself.”

“Usually if you do that, you get it for free so I’m not seeing the problem here.”

Sam laughs, putting his glass in the sink. “Did you talk to Cas?”

“This can’t wait until I’ve had coffee?”

“Just saying, you look more relaxed than you did last night.”

Dean sets up the coffee maker and turns around, shooting a salacious grin at Sam. “There’s other reasons that can happen, Sammy.”

“Hilarious, Dean. So, did you?”

“Get laid?”

“Talk to Cas.”

Folding his arms over his chest, Dean nods. “Yeah.”

“And?”

“And I think we might do this. Try a real life.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Sam says, a smile on his face. “It’s good. Stepping back from hunting—I think it’ll be good for you, Dean.”

“Yeah, well, don’t go getting all Hallmark on me, it’s not a done deal yet,” Dean grumbles as he turns to pour himself a mug of coffee.

“But it’s a start, right? You’ve made the decision.”

“People make decisions all the time, Sam, don’t mean they get to follow through.”

“Those people aren’t as stubborn as you and Cas. Combined, you’re like a fucking unstoppable force.”

Dean raises an eyebrow over his coffee cup. “Did you just compare us to Andre The Giant? Because if anyone fits that, it’s you, sasquatch.”

“Whatever. I’m just saying that you and Cas, if you want it that badly, you’ll get it.”

“It’s too early for your optimism,” Dean says, draining the coffee from his mug before putting it on the counter and looking around for the waffle maker. “Waffles?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Charlie’s coming today, by the way.” Dean opens the fridge, taking out eggs and milk. “To help with all this.”

“Yeah? Good, you’ll need her.”

Dean nods to himself as he mixes, trying not to voice what’s been bothering him about all this. He’s never been too good at not picking at scabs though, so the next thing that comes out of his mouth is, “what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you want to keep hunting?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“A pretty relevant one considering what we’re discussing.”

“We’re discussing you and Cas, not me.”

Pouring the mix into the waffle iron, Dean closes it with a little more force than he would otherwise, and turns to look at Sam. “Well let's discuss you, then. What do you want?”

“What?”

“We’ve worked out what I want. What do you want?”

“I—”

“Well?”

Sam throws his hands up. “I don’t know, Dean! Is that what you want me to say? I don’t know what I want.”

Dean makes a face and reaches for the waffle iron. “That’s a start,” he says, turning out the waffle onto a plate and pouring more mix into the iron. “Think about it, okay? Me an’ Cas, we’re gonna be fine, wherever we end up. You, however—”

“You don’t have to worry about me, Dean.”

“Yeah, right.”

There’s a shuffling noise from the entrance to the kitchen and Dean turns around to see Cas there, scratching at his stomach and yawning. His hair is a mess and when Dean catches his eye, Cas smiles at him. “What’s going on?” he asks, making his way over to Dean and wrapping his arms around him from behind, resting his chin on Dean’s shoulder. “Waffles?” he asks in a hopeful voice.

The tension in Dean’s shoulders from his conversation with Sam dissipates at the feel of Cas’ warm breath on his skin. “Yeah, babe. Waffles.”

“Chocolate sauce?”

Dean’s ears flush, and he lowers his voice. “We, uh, used it up, remember?” He doesn’t know if it’s a curse or a blessing that Cas’ inhibitions are always lowered when he’s still half asleep, because while Dean’s really, really appreciating the way Cas’ hands are slipping inside the half open robe, he wishes Sam wasn’t still in the room.

There’s laughter from behind them and Cas stills where he’s pressed up against Dean. “Sam?” he whispers.

“Yep.”

Cas’ hands leave the inside of Dean’s robe and he steps away, far enough for Dean to mourn the loss of Cas’ warmth against him. Putting his feelings away, Dean carries on making waffles, half listening to the conversation that Cas starts up with Sam.

“Morning,” Cas says, pouring himself coffee, adding at least three sugars to it. Dean’s given up on trying to keep track; sometimes Cas adds three sugars, sometimes he’s not happy until at least half his mug is sugar, sometimes he won’t have any sugar. Either way, Dean’s all for whatever makes Cas happy and agreeable in the morning. “Were you fighting?”

“Just a disagreement,” Sam says, picking at the waffle he’s loaded up with fruit. “About what I’m going to do next.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

Dean finishes up the waffles and hands the plates to Cas, grabbing toppings for himself to carry out to the table. “Sam thinks he doesn’t deserve to be happy.”

“You do recognise the irony of _you_ saying that, right?” Sam says around a mouthful of waffle.

“Yuk it up, Princess, at least I have a plan.”

Cas puts the plates down on the table and frowns at Sam. “You deserve to have a life as much as Dean and I do, Sam.”

“Thanks, Cas. We forgot the coffee,” he says abruptly, heading back to the kitchen.

Dean watches him go, his brow creasing as he drops the toppings on the table carelessly. Sighing, he collapses into a chair, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Hey,” Cas says, crouching next to him, his hand on Dean’s knee. “Need anything?”

“You,” Dean says truthfully, a small smile on his face when Cas bends his head and kisses Dean’s bare thigh. “I dunno, Cas. Sam was always the one who was meant to have a normal life, but after Jess—maybe I dragged him down a path he had no business being in.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Cas says, pinching Dean’s skin. “Free will, remember? Sam ended up here because of choices he made, just like you and I ended up here because of the choices we made. Although—”

“What?”

“I’m not sure I had much of a choice when it came to you,” Cas says, standing up and curving a hand around Dean’s face. “You were always—”

“Difficult?”

“Incredible.”

“Cas...”

“Shush,” Cas says, kissing Dean’s forehead and taking the seat next to him. “Eat your waffles.”

Dean ducks his head to try and hide the flush on his cheeks when Sam comes walking in with three mugs of coffee. “You took your time,” he remarks.

“Brewed a fresh batch,” Sam says, passing Cas the sugar bowl. He sits at the table and pops a blueberry in his mouth. “I want to keep hunting.”

“Oh.”

“Not because I don’t want a life, or whatever you’re thinking. I just—I feel like I can still do some good. I _like_ hunting. I like being able to help people. You might not want to be Rufus, Dean, but I wouldn’t mind being Bobby.”

“I thought Garth was going to be Bobby,” Dean says with a slight grin.

“And have Bobby yelling at us from beyond the grave about letting a werewolf take his place?” Sam snorts, taking the bait. “No thanks.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

A pained look crosses Dean’s face, but he shakes it off and reaches for his coffee mug, pressing the warmth against his palms. “Sam, I’m not gonna stop you doing what you want. If you want to keep hunting, then you want to keep hunting. Just be safe, okay kid?”

“At some point you’ve gotta stop calling me that,” Sam says, throwing a piece of pineapple at Dean.

“Hey! And since when do we have pineapple in this place?”

“Since I like it on pizza,” Cas says around a mouthful of waffle. He’s got whipped cream on the corner of his mouth, chocolate smeared on his bottom lip and Dean can’t help leaning over and licking it away. He draws back with a smile on his face, the taste of cream in his mouth, and the knowledge that even though Cas has absolutely terrible taste in pizza toppings, he still gets to have this, gets to have Cas with him for however long they both manage to stay alive.

*

Charlie turns up that evening, apparently having been at a comic con in Iowa, and then bunking down with one of the local booth girls for the past week. She’s got tales to tell that make even Dean blush, and if Charlie weren’t like his little sister, Dean would be storing those stories for the unlikely event that he has to ever spend a night away from Cas. Instead, he finds himself holding a hand up when Charlie starts to get too graphic, which only makes her laugh, and Dean ends up hiding his face in Cas’ neck as Sam teases him about being a prude.

It’s not until eight that everyone starts whining about being hungry, and Dean heads off into the kitchen to try and find something to eat. They haven’t been out for groceries since they got back from the last hunt, and he’s not too optimistic about finding anything for dinner.

“Alright,” he says, walking back to find everyone crashed out on the furniture, Charlie with her legs draped over Cas’ lap. “There’s no food, who’s gonna go for takeout?”

“You,” Charlie says, not looking up from where she’s fiddling with her laptop.

“What? Why?”

“Because I’m a guest, and you’ll want to drive anyway.”

Dean huffs a little at being read so easily. “Pizza? And someone’s coming with me.”

“I’ll come,” Cas says, lifting Charlie’s legs off him and standing up.

“Try and keep in your pants,” Charlie says, sticking her tongue out at them. “I want to eat sometime before midnight.”

Dean returns the gesture before heading out with Cas. Getting behind the wheel of the Impala, Dean looks over at Cas as they pull out of the bunker. It still means a lot, how at home Cas looks in the Impala, and Dean only just manages to pull his eyes away from him as they get onto the road. He’s still kinda surprised that they managed to find a decent pizza place so close, but Carlo, the owner does something to the crust that Dean’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to know because it’ll ruin the mystery.

“Have you thought about it?” Cas asks abruptly.

“About what?”

“About where we’re going to live?”

“Nope,” Dean says, frowning at the road in front of them. “Have you?”

“Somewhere calm. Peaceful.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, glancing over at Cas and enjoying the small smile Cas has on his face. “I could go for that. Backyard?”

“I’d like a garden, yes.”

“Okay then. That’s a start.”

It’s a comfortable silence until they pull into Carlo’s. Dean puts in their regular orders and nods at a few people he recognises from previous visits. Sitting at the counter with Cas, they share an order of doughballs as they wait for the pizzas to be made. His foot hooks around Cas’ ankle and he grins when there’s a little flush on Cas’ cheeks in response. It still amazes him that the simplest things can bring that reaction out in Cas. Of course Dean loves it when they’re naked and tangled together, but there’s something to be said for just being here, like this, with Cas. Not having to hide how he feels, or how important Cas is to him.

“You’re staring at me,” Cas says, picking up a doughball and examining it before dipping it in garlic sauce.

“I like looking at you.”

Cas’ cheeks get redder, and he pops the doughball in his mouth, chewing at it a little faster than he normally would. Swallowing it, he leans over and kisses Dean, a slight brush of their lips that leaves Dean with a soft smile on his face.

“Pizza’s up for the lovebirds!” echoes across the store and Dean rolls his eyes at Carlo, getting up, hand trailing over the back of Cas’ neck as he goes. Leaving a tip behind, Dean hands off three of the pizzas to Cas and they head out to the car.

“You holding them on the way back?” Dean asks as Cas gets in.

“There’s a very real chance Charlie will eat _us_ if we come back without them, so yes.”

Dean piles the pizzas on top of Cas’ lap and pulls his phone out, snapping a quick photo when he realises the boxes reach Cas’ chin. “Covered in food is a good look for you,” he says when he gets in the car. He’s met with a withering stare and laughs, starting the car up for the drive home.

“Greasy pizza is not my preferred food on my skin.”

Eyeing Cas speculatively, Dean raises an eyebrow. “I’d eat pepperoni off you, babe.”

“You’d eat anything off me, that’s not a valid argument.”

“It’s amazing how huffy you can get when we’re talking about sex.”

Cas’ grip tightens on the pizzas, the corners of his mouth turning up, and he stares ahead through the windshield. “Drive, Dean.”

*

The next morning Dean wakes up to Cas’ mouth on his neck, tongue swiping across his skin, and Dean stifles a groan.

“I know you’re awake,” Cas says, his lips moving against Dean’s jaw. “I can tell.” His hand slides down, gripping Dean through his boxers. “We forgot to do laundry again.”

“Not really what I want to think about right now, Cas.”

“Promise me we’ll do laundry and I’ll continue.”

Dean shifts on the bed, trying to push up into Cas’ hand, seeking out the friction he so dearly wants. “Fuck, Cas, okay, we’ll do laundry.”

The words are barely out of his mouth before Cas slides his hand inside Dean’s boxers and starts to work him with practiced ease. It’s hot under the blankets, the atmosphere heavy with want, and Dean can’t help the motion of his hips; he wants more, wants Cas to keep touching him, never wants to be without Cas’ hands on his skin. Dean turns his head, seeking Cas’ mouth, and when they finally kiss it’s like a completed circuit with all of Dean’s nerve endings lighting up.

It doesn’t take much more before Dean’s hands are gripping Cas’ arms tight enough to leave marks, and then he’s coming, his teeth catching Cas’ bottom lip as he does.

“Holy shit,” Dean says, trying to catch his breath. “Okay, we can do laundry.”

“Excuse me?” Cas climbs on top of Dean, the blankets falling around them, and he pushes the waistband of his boxers down, wrapping a hand around his dick. “Laundry can wait.”

This isn’t new, but Dean’s never going to stop being captivated by the sight of Cas jerking himself off. Cas’ head tilts back as he moves his hand, and Dean’s brought back to when they started doing this, when everything Cas did would leave Dean feeling like he didn’t deserve to have this because Cas was just so fucking hot. There’s still times when Dean feels like he doesn’t deserve this, but he’s trying, and Cas—Cas never lets him forget how much he’s loved.

Cas’ free hand covers Dean’s where it’s resting against Cas’ thigh, and their fingers link together. “You close, babe?” Dean says, squeezing Cas’ hand. “Gonna come for me?”

There’s a low whine from Cas’ throat and then he’s spilling all over his hand, some drops hitting Dean’s stomach and, fuck yeah, this is exactly how Dean wants to spend all his mornings. Cas rolls off him and sits cross legged on the bed, staring down at Dean. “Now we can do laundry,” he says, dragging his finger through the mess on Dean’s stomach. “And maybe take a shower.”

*

“So,” Charlie says when she finds Dean washing the cars in the garage. “Woah. Shorts, dude.”

“You want something?”

“Okay, sensitive about the shorts, I gotcha.”

Dean shoots a look over his shoulder and straightens up, grabbing the hose to rinse the car off. “Charlie, again, you want something?”

“I started looking at houses for you and Cas, and then I realised I have no idea where you want to live.”

“Yeah, we haven’t decided on that.”

“Don’t you think it’s kind of an important thing to start with?”

“It’s not like either of us have ever done this before,” Dean says, concentrating on blasting the car with water.

“Dean, are you—and don’t yell at me—nervous?”

“No. Maybe. Can we not talk about this?”

“Uh, kind of the reason you asked me to come visit, dude.”

Dean switches the hose off and wipes his hands on his shorts. “What if I suck at this?” he asks quietly, turning to look at Charlie.

“At...”

“Having a normal home. Trying to fit in with people.”

“Dean, you—look, I’m not going to pretend that I know anything about being normal because, hello, I’m weird and amazing with it, but you do know no one is actually _normal_ , right?”

“Big difference between having your own bowling shoes and having been to hell, Charlie.”

“Bowling is a form of hell.”

Dean quirks a smile at her and shakes his head. “Ganking demons is a lot easier than planning a life.”

“Yeah, but—”

“What?”

“You wanted this, Dean. You actually asked me to come help you with it. I think that says a lot.”

Dean exhales heavily, scrubbing a still wet hand through his hair and wincing when he realises what he’s done. “Start local, I guess,” he says. “Sam still wants to hunt, and I think he’ll stay here. I don’t want to be too far. Cas wants a garden.”

“I can work with that,” she says, nodding at Dean before walking off.

Rubbing his forearm absently, Dean picks up the bucket by his feet and walks over to the next car, needing to do _something_ to get his mind off the idea that he’s going to fail at this. That he’s going to let Cas down. That this is him running from a life that he shouldn’t want to leave.

“Fuck,” he shouts, throwing the sponge across the garage before sitting on the floor. This is ridiculous. Dean knows he needs to change his life, that hunting, living like this, isn’t making him happy. Huffing out a laugh, he shakes his head. He’s not sure if hunting ever made him happy. It stopped him from feeling anything but anger for a long time and then—then there was Cas.

He’s not sure if he’d want to change his life if he didn’t have Cas, but he also wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for Cas, so maybe this entire thought process is moot. Pushing himself off the concrete floor, Dean stands up, his back slightly aching from having powered through washing so many cars. Opening the doors, Dean pours out the bucket and leaves it in the corner before heading back inside the bunker.

Dean finds Sam on the phone by the war table, and he leans against the wall when he realises it’s Jody.

“Case?” he asks, when the phonecall ends.

“Yeah, she thinks it’s vampires, possibly a nest.”

“You gonna take it.”

Sam shrugs. “Not a long drive, if I set off in the next couple hours, I can be there before nightfall.”

“Need help?”

“Stay here and find somewhere to live,” Sam says, sliding his phone into his pocket. “I can handle it.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, as Sam walks away. “I know you can.”

*

Cas finds him in their bedroom, filling the laundry basket to carry down to the machine. “Are you okay?” he asks, coming up beside Dean and helping him throw their dirty clothes in the basket.

“I’m fine.”

“Dean.”

“I—it’s an adjustment.”

“A bad one?” Cas wrinkles his nose as he kneels down and pulls out underwear from underneath the bed. “This is disgusting.”

“No.” Dean takes the clothes Cas hands to him and shakes his head, throwing them in the basket. “That’s kind of the problem. Sam’s off on a hunt and I don’t even care. I care about him, but not being on the hunt?” Dean shrugs and picks up the basket. “Not even bothering me.”

“Dean—”

“It’s fine, Cas.” Dean kisses Cas softly, dropping the basket on the bed when Cas’ hand comes up to grip the back of Dean’s neck, deepening the kiss. It’s exactly what Dean needs right now, and it never fails to amaze him how Cas always knows how to take care of him. He can only hope that he gives as much back to Cas when he needs it.

“Come on,” Cas says when he pulls away. “Let’s do laundry.”

“You made that sound dirty,” Dean says, picking the basket back up. “I just want you to know that.”

“I think that’s your problem,” Cas says as he follows Dean out of the room. “Charlie has, uh, made a list of houses for us to look at when we’re done here. She is also on a raid, and she said she emailed it to you for us to look at.”

Dean chuckles and pushes open the door to the laundry room, wrinkling his nose at the chemical smell that permeates the room. When they have their own place, he’s not letting it end up like this. He’s done enough time in laundromats for him to want a laundry room that doesn’t smell like a flame would make it go up.

“Huh,” he says, coming to a stop in front of the machine.

“What?”

“I just thought about how I want our laundry room to smell.”

Cas raises his eyebrows and tilts his head. “And that means—”

“It means I can do this.”

“Do this?”

“Have a normal life. Have a house.”

“And you realised this because of laundry?”

“Don’t mock my process, Cas,” Dean snaps.

“I would never,” Cas says, stepping closer to Dean. “I’m very pleased you’ve realised this.”

“Am I going to get a celebration blow job?”

“Dean.”

“What?”

“Put the laundry on.”

*

The list of houses Charlie’s found doesn’t have “the one”, but it’s a start.

Dean likes that idea.

It’s a start. He gets to start again with Cas.

Dean can live with that.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://motleywolf.tumblr.com)


End file.
